Chapter 242 |
It felt like I was in a dream. I couldn’t discern between what was reality or fantasy and was locked in a state of strange mental fogginess. If it wasn’t for the faint voice coming from the background, I might have believed that this was my reality.
—This is our final turning point.
I regained my senses with Yeon-Hoon’s voice and realized that this current life wasn’t really my life but a future one from the final turning point. In other words, it was a future life that hadn’t arrived yet and one I never lived. I looked around my surroundings.
‘The car we rode on our way back from Sokcho?’ This was the starting point of my regression.
Beeeeeep—!
Soon after, a truck trespassed into the middle line.
Boom!
Our car smashed into the guardrail after being pushed by the truck. I couldn’t do anything. If I could, I wanted to put pressure on Yeon-Hoon’s knee to hit the gas pedal, but this body moved regardless of my will. I was simply an observing spectator imbued in this body, and there was nothing I could do alone.
After that, the natural order was for my members to die. Only Yeon-Hoon was hospitalized in a coma, and I attended my members’ funeral even though I hadn’t even recovered from the aftermath of the traffic accident yet.
At that time, my answer had been: what else could I do right now but just pass day by day like this? Thus, all I did was breathe. Even when my members’ parents came to talk to me, I simply listened to what they said without saying anything. Even when the doctor came and explained my body condition, I didn’t say anything. Perhaps, I had symptoms of aphasia then.
The doctor consulted with psychiatrists and prescribed me medicine related to my psychological state, but I showed no improvement. Soon afterward, Bong Tae-Yoon from this world was discharged from the hospital, and he began to write web novels. It seemed that this Tae-Yoon had already regressed multiple times, as evident by the titles of his novels that would amass definite success in the future.
I didn’t think writing novels based on future works were immoral since it wasn’t like I would copy and paste the whole work but use the trends I knew would succeed in the future as materials to write.
Yet, this Tae-Yoon seemed to have no care about the morality behind his creation at all and just wrote to simply amass money. Naturally, all his works became a huge hit since they were based on original, mega hit works that swept the industry. He gained more money than the time he used to be an idol, yet he only collected the money and didn’t use it. He simply earned more money like a machine.
‘…What? What is he writing so furiously for?’
There were times when I sometimes felt saddened that I couldn’t write in this life. In my past life, it was writing that supported me when my members were gone. It wasn’t that I simply depended on my projects but in the moments I wrote, I felt a bliss that helped me endure the pain and torment of each day. In this way, writing was like an escape and gave me rest. It seemed Tae-Yoon from this world had accumulated this huge desire to write for a while now.
And to release that pent-up desire, he wrote like a machine as if he wanted to leave no regrets. In the end, he finished his last work and one-sidedly notified his publishing company that he would stop writing. Though he gained an astronomical amount of money, Tae-Yoon still lived in a dreary and small one-room apartment and only wore sloppy clothing.
What was Tae-Yoon going to do now? And what would this final turning point lead to? Truthfully, I had an inkling of an idea, but I hoped it was wrong. On the desk, Tae-Yoon from this world began to get to work. First of all, he emptied his bank account. Hundred million of wons that he accumulated from writing flowed out of his accounts and moved to charity organizations, everyone he received help from in his past life, and his members’ parents.
He gave everything away. Charity organizations called him after suddenly receiving such a huge sum. His members’ parents also contacted him, wondering why they were getting all this money. People who helped him in previous worlds but had no connection in this world had no way of knowing his contact so nothing came from then. They would probably call up the bank to ask about the money. Yet, no matter how many people tried to reach him, Tae-Yoon didn’t get any of their calls.
He destroyed his phone and took the little bit of money he still had remaining and left. The place he headed for was a small city in the countryside.
‘…It’s Sokcho.’ This was the city where I had my final trip with my members. Tae-Yoon walked through Sokcho. He wandered around the pension where he last stayed with his hyungs and looked back at the path he last walked. He stared at the ocean where they had submerged their feet in and played. Then, Tae-Yoon began to walk towards the ocean listlessly. He continued walking until the water was up to his neck and then to where his feet couldn’t touch the floor.
Soon afterwards, Tae-Yoon’s world gradually lost its light and began to sink. His vision darkened and while I quietly watched Tae-Yoon’s body sink lower, I heard Yeon-Hoon’s voice from behind.
—This is our final turning point.
I followed his voice and realized that I had returned to space with countless worldlines. I raised my head and looked at Yeon-Hoon.
“How was it? How was it like to see our final turning point?” he asked.
I couldn’t easily answer him. “I don’t know which worldline this is, but the system would try to put an end to this worldline even if it had to go through countless regressions. This is how the system controls the future.”
Though this was a future that hadn’t arrived yet, it was also a definite future. I still couldn’t say anything.
“Do you want a world like this? Are you fine with this becoming our last moments?”
I could at least confidently answer this question. “…No.”
“Yeah, any one of us would’ve said the same thing.”
Yeon-Hoon met my eyes. It was my turn to ask now.
“Then, what’s…your reason for showing me all this?” I wanted to ask what I needed to do and how I could escape this world.
“Before I answer your question, let’s go back to the beginning.” Yeon-Hoon dragged me somewhere else and walked a bit. Our worldlines began to extend out and reached one place.
“I told you that I was the system, and you aren’t sure what kind of system I am, right?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“If I had to say which one I am, I am the system that gives you the missions.”
“…”
I was at a loss for words. The system who gives me missions? Then it was Yeon-Hoon who was personally giving me the missions with my members’ death flags on the line? I didn’t want to believe it…but I calmed myself down for now.
“…So?” I asked. I needed to hear more.
“But I am not wholly that system,” Yeon-Hoon said and pointed at the countless universes extending out from our point.
“You know how you wanted to meet the 999th regressor? But try counting the universes? How many do you think they are? Only 999?”
I tried to count the universes as he told me but quickly stopped after realizing how foolish that was.
“…It’s way over 999,” I said. At a glance, it looked to be about a couple hundreds, but it was far more than that; so I quickly gave up on counting.
“999 is the limit of regressions that you can perceive, but the reality is much greater than that. After a thousand times, I also gave up on counting.”
It made sense since there wouldn’t be such a dense clump of fine lines like this otherwise. I looked back at Yeon-Hoon. If he regressed thousands of times, he would be a couple thousand years old even if he lived just one year in his regressions. I wondered if I could call the entity before me even a human like me. Yeon-Hoon seemed to have read my expression and smiled.
“After a thousand times, I didn’t really live a life. I didn’t make any choices or think but just endured until I died. I basically lived thousands of lives in a vegetative state. There were many regressions where I regressed again in less than half a year.”
That didn’t change the fact that Yeon-Hoon must have at least lived hundred and thousands of years, but I decided to stop thinking about it since it wasn’t important.
“Since I knew I would regress again after dying, I just thought I was locked in an everlasting prison and blanked out. I had no confidence in ending this regression because I thought if I gave up, you all would disappear. In other words, I didn’t want to give up but had no confidence in continuing.”
Yeon-Hoon quietly watched the thousands of worldlines he made. There was a bitterness to his gaze. Though these were lives born from his will, they were filled with his regrets and pain.
“But you experienced it yourself right? If repetitive work exponentially increases, the system stops functioning for a bit,” Yeon-Hoon continued.
I knew this part. It was one of the holes of the system.
“Because I kept regressing in an infinite loop, the system halted for a moment. That’s when I was able to first enter this space,” Yeon-Hoon said and extended his hand towards the thousands of worldlines he made.
“And with it, I learned that I could move all these numerous worlds I made like my hands and feet.” With Yeon-Hoon’s hand movements, thousands of worldlines simultaneously vibrated.
“Don’t you think this place feels like the vines of an ivy?”
“Vines of an ivy?”
“They first grow on a wall and slowly grow but after growing a bit, they become one with the wall and don’t fall out. Thus, to take off the vines, you would have to take apart the entire wall.”
After hearing what he said, the countless universes in front of me no longer appeared to be just floating in void but looked like they were grasping the black, empty space tightly, unwilling to let go.
“Using the thousands of worldlines I created, I seeped into this space.”
I understood what Yeon-Hoon was saying. Yeon-Hoon was the system , but he wasn’t wholly the system. He was another system that was growing inside the system. If I had to make an easier comparison…
“I’m like a virus that invaded a computer and is trying to take control of all its authority.”
There was no better way to describe it: Yeon-Hoon was like a computer virus.
